Men’s magazines, and a lot of men as well, will tell you “there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob.” Actually, there is, and a guy would need to be awfully ignorant and insensitive not to know when he’s had one. In this fourth part of our series, we look at a woman’s right to tell him “never.”

Actually, it’s not a right, is it? It’s an obligation. If you don’t want to do something, you owe it to yourself to be true to yourself. Obviously, there are some things you can’t get out of - paying taxes, cleaning the bathroom, listening to an elderly friend or relative tell you the same uninteresting story she told you the last time you saw her.

However, other things, which themselves are not obligations - there you have a choice. Maybe you will opt (or allow yourself to be persuaded) to turn it into an obligation. Maybe you will then convince yourself that it’s a sacrifice you are willing to make for whatever reason. Love, convenience, peace and quiet... it could be anything. At the end of the day, though, it was your decision.

Or you could just do it so badly that you will never be asked again.

I think we can all picture how a bad blowjob would go. A dry mouth, chapped lips, eyes spinning off elsewhere, lackluster hand movements, a disinterested tongue (if you even bother with that), occasional breaks to scratch your arm or glance at the TV. Lying on your side, with your head resting on a flat, upraised palm, while you nod in the same way as you respond to the aforementioned elderly story-teller. If that’s not an absolute passion killer... well, I’m sure you can think of others. Oh, and before you say, “but my man keeps his eyes closed throughout,” don’t worry. The occasional noisy yawn is just as effective.

No, there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob. However, a few rounds of zero enthusiasm later, and he might not be so quick to suggest another one. And, if he’s really smart and sensitive, he might even ask you if there’s anything wrong -- which is where the fun can really begin.

We have, over the last three articles, covered most of the “real” reasons why some women are just not into it. “Real” meaning ones where, if you actually sit down to analyze things, you could say “well, it all started when....”

However, you don’t have to have a reason for a dislike to be real. I said last time that I don’t like sprouts (or Radiohead). No reason. Nothing happened to put me off, nobody told me some ghastly tale about Thom Yorke and a steaming bowl of brussels. I just don’t like them. I don’t care how you disguise them with butter and herbs, or how clever you tell me the CDs may be, I’m still going to clap my hands over my ears and sing very loudly “lalalalala.”

Well, Jenny, you know how you feel about sprouts? Some people feel the same way about blowjobs. It doesn’t matter how many reams you write about their creamy goodness, you’re not going to change their minds.

Good. I wouldn’t want to.

Dislike is a difficult emotion to quantify. Yes, there is the dictionary definition, but simply saying that it’s the opposite of something else (“like,” obviously) doesn’t really hit the spot. Especially when it’s something that your partner, shall we say, is genetically programmed to relish.

Okay, a quick time out. There was an episode of Friends in which Monica makes a remark that clearly relates to an urge to blow Chandler. To which, he responds with, “you know I’m not into that.” We all laugh at that concept without even considering for a moment that there was probably a silent minority of men who heard that and raised a silent cheer. I’ve never met one that didn't like them, and I’m not sure that I’d want to, at least under circumstances where he needed to voice his dislike. However, he doubtlessly exists and wouldn’t that be an opening for the matchmaking trade to investigate? They could file it under “oral compatibility.”

Oral incompatability, on the other hand, is a far harder beast to train. Either way, there’s a loser. Either he misses out on what he considers (and abstinence will increase this feeling) an important element of his sex life. Or, she has to put herself through a regular routine of wearying un-pleasantry. If she’s lucky, she’ll get used to it, and it’ll just become another household chore. If she’s really lucky, he’ll buy a luscious lips Fleshlight.

And until then....

With the exception of Linda Lovelace’ epiglottal clitoris in the movie Deep Throat, there is no definable pleasure center in a woman’s mouth. There are taste buds, of course, and the tongue and lips are extraordinarily sensitive. However, the joy that a woman derives from fellatio is largely more psychological and/or emotional than physical - a point that is very easily demonstrated by running to the grocery store, bringing home a plantain, and jamming it in and out of your mouth for twenty minutes. Then, afterwards, squirting a teaspoonful of bleach-y yogurt onto your tongue. (Just take my word for it. Please do not try this at home.)

Science has spent most of its existence trying to determine what precisely creates a feeling of pleasure when there is no direct physical stimulus on a physical pleasure point. It has never succeeded, because we all feel it differently. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that.

However, it is as reasonable to dislike running your mouth, lips, and tongue over somebody’s genitals as it is to avoid contact with any other part of the body that is intimately associated with waste. You will notice we are not sitting here discussing analingus, too. I said earlier that we are going to avoid discussing taste and texture (both before and during his orgasm), but they are important because things like that can tip an “it’s okay, I suppose” response into active dislike.

Technique - yours and his - can also push someone over the edge. It would be glib, not to mention dishonest, to say “if your jaw hurts and your neck aches, you’re doing something wrong,” because they will. However, unless you are getting something else from the experience that makes the pain worthwhile, then why ever would you put yourself through it in the first place? If your partner enjoyed bending your fingers back, would you even consider letting him do it?

So, where are we? You’re on your knees, either before or beside him. Your head is bent uncomfortably down, your mouth is stretched uncomfortably open, and he is ramming a hot, sticky rod down the back of your throat. Put a camera on the end, and he could be doing a particularly ham-fisted endoscopy. His balls smell sweaty, there’s a distinct air of urine. Oh, and he’s probably murmuring things like “oh baby, suck my big cum-filled cock.”

None of which, for some unknown reason, is giving you even the tiniest fission of pleasure, beyond the knowledge that he probably won’t last much longer. At which point, you can stand up, wipe your mouth, pop a few Altoids and get on with your day. You’ll notice, by the way, that I didn’t even mention him cumming. That’s a whole new circle of Hell in its own right.

Yeah, put it like that, and I don't only understand why you hate it, but a large part of me agrees with you, too. I will continue to do so the next time I’m doing it. Because - and I think every woman reading this will agree with me - there have been occasions when that is exactly what it feels like... exactly what I feel like. Just as, I’m sure, there are times when a guy is going down on his girl, and experiencing a range of discomforts that are not very different.

That is when you’re doing it wrong. Oral sex is not, and should never be treated as, a favor, a duty, an obligation, an expectation. It should not be coerced, cajoled, convinced, or complaining. It is an expression of love and trust, lust and excitement. It is an act of acceptance, and an art of naked beauty.

If one of you is not feeling those things, whether for one night or for a lifetime, then find another way to play where you both get everything you need from the experience. The human body is an amazing thing, and human sexuality has no boundaries whatsoever.

Or, as the librarian in me is constantly reminding our patrons, just because you started a book, that doesn’t mean you have to finish it if you don’t like what you’ve read. There are plenty of others on the shelf.

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Author and librarian Jenny Swallows lives in Texas, collects old erotica and is never so happy as when a pen is in her hand. Addicted to writing since she was tiny (and she’s only 5’3” now, so imagine!), she ran out of time to do everything she wanted so she created a pseudonym to take up the slack. Chrissie Bentley now has two pages of titles listed on Amazon, where The Nympho Librarian tops her best-selling chart. Jenny, on the other hand, just wants to have fun, and Eden Fantasys is one of the places where she has it.

Visit her blog to find out more about her, or just write and ask - she loves getting messages, and adores exchanging memories and anecdotes.

And when she’s not listening to Garbage, Jem and Broadcast CDs, playing with her cats or torturing her boyfriend (in the nicest possible way), she’ll probably have her nose buried away in Second Life. Where she writes stories, listens to Garbage, plays with cats... hmmm. I think we're seeing a pattern here.